


Lessons in Manoeuvrability and Marriage

by prairiecrow



Series: Lessons in Humanity [17]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Gay Marriage, Hand Jobs, Jarvis Can't Hold His Champagne, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Steve Wants To Put A Ring On That, Threesome - M/M/M, Tony Needs Some Convincing, Tony is protective
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two times Steve Rogers asks The Question -- and one time he doesn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve Rogers was a man who devoutly believed in picking his battles and being thoroughly prepared before entering the field, but the first time he asked what he came to think of as The Question, it just sort of came out before he quite knew what he was saying.  

He'd been well-sexed and relaxed and comfortable, which probably accounted for how things went down. The morning was warm and bright beyond the penthouse windows, a classic New York City late summer day, and Steve and Tony were sitting together at the dining table in their neat modern kitchen, eating bagels and drinking strong coffee while perusing the daily news. Jarvis had left early to go shopping, supposedly to scout a new shipment of antiques in Hell's Kitchen, but Steve knew full well that it was simply for the pleasure of getting out and about after almost three weeks of heavy-duty R&D with Tony. Tony knew it too, and didn't begrudge Jarvis the excursion — he'd simply smiled when Jarvis had announced his intentions the night before and made a joke about not maxing out all of Tony's credit cards at once, prior to taking both his lovers to bed and making a pretty energetic night of it. 

( _If I do exceptionally well,_ Jarvis had remarked, looking up from Tony's well-sucked (but nowhere near sucked enough) dick with wide disingenuous eyes, _will you change your mind about the credit cards?_  

( _Oh fuck, J,_ Tony had groaned, twining his fingers into the slimmer man's short blond hair and tugging urgently, _keep that up and I'll buy VISA for you, I swear to God!_  

( _I'll hold you to that,_ Jarvis had retorted with a feline smirk, and proceeded to earn his privileges with a skill that had made Tony's eyes roll back in his head and his toes curl helplessly, while Steve employed his fingers to make sure that Jarvis wasn't feeling neglected, even if he was busy working.) 

Looking back, Steve would realize that his initial misstep was prompted by a random flip of his copy of _The New York Times_ (actually printed, unlike the digital copies Tony favoured) to the Weddings/Celebrations section, where a headline declaring _Effects of Ruling on Same-Sex Marriage Start Rippling Out Through Government_ caught his attention. It was a measure of how much he'd learned to unbend around Tony that his internal censor didn't so much as say boo when a few ripples of his own emerged from his brain, opened his mouth, and prompted the words: "Why don't you?" 

"Hm?" Tony, deeply engrossed in _The Wall Street Journal_ on his StarkPad, barely twitched an ear, but Steve knew him well enough by now to be fairly sure that he'd redirected part of his attention — ten percent, if Steve was lucky — to the man across the table. 

Steve gestured at the article in the _Times_ , even though Tony couldn't actually see it from his current position. "Marry him," he elaborated, and then the censor snapped awake and crowed a red-hot alarm, but too late — because Tony was now looking at him with one hundred percent of his attention, and although he'd pasted on an amused expression the undercurrent was definitely _not_. 

"Who, Elton John?" Tony quipped without missing a beat, then reached for his raisin bagel to take a massive bite out of it. Once he'd chewed and swallowed he continued: "Didn't I tell you? Pathological fear of nightclub entertainers. My parents were killed by sequins." 

For a second Steve considered letting the matter drop dead right there. Certainly every ounce of common sense he possessed was screaming that he'd transgressed into territory that was probably none of his damned business — but what position _was_ he in, exactly? If he was still just a guest in Tony and Jarvis's bedroom after almost seven months of cohabitation, then neither this conversation nor this breakfast table were fit places for him to be. On the other hand, if he was what he hoped he was — what every instinct told him he was — that is, genuinely their lover and thus permitted a deeply intimate emotional connection… 

"You know what I mean," he said quietly, because he also had no illusions about Tony's first and deepest allegiance. That hurt sometimes, but at the moment it just made him feel quietly sad — and genuinely curious. "It's legal now, he's crazy about you, and you're —" 

"— not the marrying type," Tony said, probably not quite as lightly as he hoped. He dropped his gaze to the StarkPad in his left hand. "Besides, if I did that it would put you in one helluva position. Tell me, what's the Roman Catholic Church's stance on bigamy these days?" 

Steve also knew Tony well enough now to ignore attempts to derail the course of a serious conversation. "You know I'd do the right thing by the both of you." 

This time Tony's grin was an impish leer. "Which is why I'm not exactly rushing to get to the altar. Give up your sweet ass? Do I _look_ either crazy or stupid?" 

 _You look like you're desperately in love with him,_ Steve thought as clear memories of the previous night (and so many nights before) flashed through his mind, _and like you couldn't live without him for even a single day,_ but this time the internal censor was on duty and caught it before the observation left the gate. Instead he frowned and tried a different line of attack: "I wouldn't really mind, you know — still... I mean, as long as the two of you were okay with it. But wouldn't it make things a lot simpler? His name is already on your accounts, right? And there are all kinds of legal advantages to —" 

"You're kidding, right?" Tony was giving him the Look that suggested that Steve had suffered permanent brain damage during the last mission and it had just taken this long for it to catch up with him. "It would make things the exact opposite of 'simpler'. In fact, it would turn all our lives into an absolute nightmare." 

Which made Steve's scowl deepen in perplexed disbelief. "You mean, you really _don't_ want to —?" 

A thundercloud materialized on Tony's brow. "If that sentence was going to end in _'— don't want to marry him because you think he's not good enough for you'_ or something equally full of shit, you can kick your own ass out the door, Old Man." 

Steve shook his head. "No! Nothing like that! I just…" He waved the hand that had gestured at the trouble-starting article, helplessly. "Is there something I'm missing here? Is there some twenty-first century social protocol that I'm not seeing?" Gazing into Tony's dark unblinking eyes, he let his own voice and expression manifest the full extent of his confusion — and his conviction. "Because you're the most in-love man I know, and you won't even hold his hand in public. It's — kind of hard to figure out." 

The anger resurged in Tony's face, but it wasn't directed at Steve, thank God. "Is it?" he asked enigmatically, and helped himself to a hearty swallow of coffee, his brows drawn in a brooding frown as he studied Steve closely. After he'd set down the cup he continued grimly: "C'mon, Rogers, you're a soldier: you know all about enemy action and targets of convenience. Let's say I do hold his hand — or God forbid, kiss him — and the press gets a shot of it. Next thing I know it's all over the news: TONY STARK'S NEW BOY TOY! FILM AT 11! Jarvis's face is out there, attached to me." He leaned a couple of inches closer, his gaze glittering with something like pain. "And some asshole with more resentment than brains — some terrorist, some rival industrialist, some random crazy — decides that the way to get to me… is to go through him." Pain became savagery. "Do you really think, for one solitary second, that I'd paint that big a target on his back?" 

"I know you'd die before you'd let anyone hurt him," Steve replied instantly, but Tony was shaking his head emphatically. 

"There's risks, and then there's _risks_. I can't be on duty to protect him twenty-four seven — all it would take was one hour when I was off Avengering, and — no, no fucking way. The only way it's even halfway safe is if nobody else knows about it." 

"Except me?" Steve asked, quietly, and he made no effort to hide the hurt in his own eyes. 

Tony glared at him for half a second longer; then his stiff spine crumbled, and he slumped back in his chair, closing his eyes with a sigh. "Except you," he said just as quietly, "because you wouldn't let anything happen to him either." A heartbeat's pause. Tony cracked open his eyes to regard Steve with a wry quirk of an eyebrow. "Do you have any idea how lucky we were, to find someone like you?" He ran his right hand over his face with a grimace, looking suddenly exhausted in spite of the good night's sleep under his belt. "Probably not. Egotism is my gig, not yours." 

Wanting to offer comfort, Steve opened his mouth again — and the internal censor proved derelict in its duties once more. "Then maybe you should marry somebody who wouldn't be in that kind of danger." 

Tony's half-lidded eyes snapped wide open. 

"You know," Steve continued, meeting that disbelieving gaze with a hint of an apologetic smile, because oh, to _hell_ with it: "Someone who could take care of themselves."

The seconds stretched out between them — one, three, five — as Tony stared, and Steve waited for the grenade to detonate. At last Tony managed to produce a somewhat choked sentence: "Wait, are you actually saying what I _think_ you're —?" 

Steve's lips parted. He had no idea what was going to come out next, beyond a fervent _Hell yes!_ But at that precise moment, as a reminder that they weren't actually alone even now, Tony's phone began to chime in his pocket: something spritely by Mozart, Jarvis's particular ring tone. Tony scrambled to answer it, leaving Steve to turn his regretful attention back to the _Times_ , and when Tony came back up for air he immediately departed for his lab again, leaving a quarter of a bagel, the dregs of his coffee, and a huge _WE WILL NOT HAVE THIS CONVERSATION!_ behind. 

Steve tried not to feel like he'd been kicked in the teeth — and succeeded, mostly. He'd gone into this suspecting that Tony wasn't the best when it came to dealing with interpersonal relationships, and experience had taught him the wisdom of that initial impression. It would have hurt a lot more if he'd doubted for an instant that Tony cared about him, but while Tony might not talk about his feelings very much, at least when it came to people other than Jarvis, he couldn't hide the warmth in his gaze whenever that gaze fell on Steve Rogers, and Steve's heart was nourished by that silent connection in ways that he wouldn't have surrendered for the world.  

The second time The Question came up… well, that wouldn't happen for a little over three months, and it would come about under considerably less idyllic circumstances. 


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't that Tony didn't think about The Question occasionally. Steve was sure that he did: the way Tony looked at him, sometimes… no, the Smartest Man In The World hadn't forgotten their spectacularly awkward conversation. But he equally certainly wasn't going to bring it up again, because he was Tony Stark and Tony Stark didn't deal well with subjects like marriage: he would fuck Jarvis and let Steve fuck him from here to eternity, that didn't change, but the prospect of discussing a formal commitment… 

And maybe, Steve had to concede, he had a point. Rings were just metal and words were just words: what mattered was how a relationship was conducted on a daily basis, and in that respect Tony was well and truly caught in what Frank Sinatra had so lyrically called "the tender trap". 

Case in point: shortly before Steve brought up The Question for the second time, Tony made a brief dart across No Man's Land himself. It was mid-afternoon, they'd just had energetic sex in the shower (Tony held up against the slippery wall by his thighs while Steve had dicked him enthusiastically until he'd cursed and spurted lavishly all over Steve's chest and belly), and Steve was still under the running water with shampoo in his hair and a self-satisfied little smile on his lips when Tony piped up from the other side of the frosted glass: "Hey, Steve?" 

"Hm?" 

He was trimming his beard: Steve could hear the soft hum of the expensive electric razor he favoured, as well as the clipped tone he had to adopt while holding his chin fairly still. "You really mean what you said, about putting a ring on my finger?" 

Which made Steve stop cold, fingers buried in his soapy hair and heart leaping in his chest. It took him a moment to collect himself enough to be sure he was responding calmly: "I'd put a ring on both your fingers, in a New York minute." 

"Huh," Tony remarked, possibly thoughtfully. Ten seconds later the razor shut off, and three seconds after that the bathroom door closed behind him, and when Steve emerged less than five minutes later with a towel around his waist and hope in his heart, Tony acted as if absolutely nothing had happened. 

The temptation to press the issue now that Tony had provided an opening was nearly overwhelming — but Steve's tactical instincts were declaring that to try to cross the border himself would end in a frustrating conversation full of deflections at best, and an outright argument and shutdown at worst. So he kept his mouth closed and filed the incident away, choosing to take it as evidence that somewhere deep down, where Tony felt he couldn't afford to be touched, the Question raised almost two months ago was at work anyway.  

And then Jarvis was shot, and everything changed — including the nature of the stakes between all three of them.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't that Tony didn't take Steve and Jarvis — sometimes together, sometimes separately, always with great care to project the image of "just friends and employer/employee" — out on numerous occasions. He did, often to some pretty ritzy places. But tonight he had mischievous intentions that made it more advisable to stick close to home, so here they all were, dressed in their best suits and sitting at a classy little round dinner table in Tony's living room with a spectacular view of nighttime New York City sprawling beyond the windows, while the even more dazzling gleam of Tony's wit shone at much closer range. 

He was so very, very easy to love when he was delighting in one of his little schemes. And both Steve and Jarvis loved him well enough to let him get away with them. 

"Sir, I really don't think —" 

"Come on, J," Tony wheedled, flashing his most charming smile as he topped up Jarvis's glass of champagne. "It's your first day out bandages and completely off painkillers. I think you can live a little!" 

"Which would be all very well," Jarvis objected, sitting up a little straighter, "if wine didn't make me so unconscionably sleepy." 

Still smirking, Tony set the modernist silver bottle back down in its bucket of ice and regarded the more slender man with both affection and exasperation. "You're cute as a button when you're sleepy — and giggly too, for that matter. Now drink up, and when you get too loose and hilarious to be good company anymore we'll tuck you safely into bed, Scout's honour." 

Jarvis cast a sceptical glance at Steve, who toyed with the stem of his own glass where it sat on the immaculate white tablecloth virtually untouched. Steve met his gaze squarely and smiled reassuringly. "I was never a Scout," he said with complete sincerity, "but you have my word." 

Jarvis's left eyebrow rose fractionally. Even though he was the sub in this configuration, refusal of directives was always an option — it was one of the ground rules of their relationship, clearly articulated by Tony at the very beginning — but on this occasion he looked from Tony to Steve and back again, sighed softly, murmured "As you wish, Sirs," and took a refined sip. 

"That's the spirit!" Tony said with hearty good humour, then drained his own glass only to refill it again: the man's capacity for handling alcohol at his age never failed to impress Steve. Jarvis, on the other hand, was a complete lightweight: a few ounces of bubbly were enough to make him noticeably tipsy, at which point he began to tell jokes of the sort that made it clear that underneath all his pseudo-British posh he'd inherited Tony's off-colour sense of humour. By the time Jarvis was on his third narrative Tony was practically crying with laughter; certainly he was howling, and Steve was blushing even as he grinned, because the stories Jarvis was so articulately and shamelessly relating would have made Dum-Dum himself blush, back in the day. It was a damned good thing they'd had their expensive "Jarvis is out of bandages!" celebratory dinner in Tony's own penthouse instead of at a fancy restaurant, otherwise they would surely have been kicked out on their ears when Jarvis started in on the tale of the barmaid, the three-legged stool, and the billy goat with a horrible case of fleas. 

"Oh Jesus," Tony gasped when the blond had delivered the incredibly raunchy punchline, wiping his eyes and grinning like a loon, "the classics never get stale, eh Jarvis?" 

"Indeed not, Sir," Jarvis responded gravely, swaying slightly in his seat as he offered a little bow of his chin in acknowledgement. 

"That was the first complex joke I ever tried out on him," Tony explained, his mirth simmering down a couple of degrees as a smile of affectionate remembrance spread over his face. "When he was able to explain _why_ it was so damned funny, I knew his inference engine was properly calibrated." 

"As I recall," Jarvis noted just before polishing off the last mouthful of wine in his glass, "it took the better part of a month." 

"Twenty-six days, buddy of mine," Tony corrected with an admonishing shake of his right forefinger. "Your eidetic recall is slipping." 

"I'm not the one who instructed me to drink six ounces of Dom Perignon White Gold Jeroboam," Jarvis retorted, remarkably smartly for someone whose words were starting to slur around the edges and the corners of whose mouth were trying hard not to twitch into a smile, "when I — or rather, you — knew full well what the results would be." 

Tony's dark eyes twinkled at him, unrepentant. "I knew it would render you absolutely adorable, so — mission accomplished!" 

Which made Jarvis giggle all right, a bright high-pitched exclamation, causing him to raise his left hand quickly to cover his mouth, eyes wide with dismay. " _Sir!_ " he protested, then promptly giggled again, which made Tony laugh uproariously… and damned if Steve could keep a smile off his own face, watching them both and feeling in his bones how utterly, amazingly, unbelievably lucky he was to be here, out of all the places in the world he could possibly be. Here, with the men he loved, both of them alive and happy — and with a secret weight burning a hole in the pocket of his dress pants, practically crying to be unveiled. 

But obviously now was not the time to discuss that secret with Jarvis: the slimly built man was indeed getting visibly sleepy as he made his way steadily through a second glass of champagne, his bursts of laughter in response to Tony's rapid-fire series of teasing quips and bawdy remarks punctuated with barely contained yawns, and when Tony reached across the edge of the small circular table to lay his hand warmly to Jarvis's cheek Jarvis leaned into it, gazing back into his Master's gentle eyes with a drowsy smile.  

"Bedtime for you, sweetheart," Tony purred, slowly stroking Jarvis's smooth cheekbone with his thumb. "Think you can make it in there on your own?" 

And Jarvis actually _pouted,_ an expression so unexpected and so charming that Steve's heart melted even as it began to beat faster. "You _promised,_ " he said mournfully, causing Tony to chuckle and shake his head. 

"We did, didn't we?" A glance across at Steve, a nod, and Steve shifted his napkin from his lap to the tabletop before rising to join Tony, who'd slipped a hand under Jarvis's right arm and was steadying him as he rose to his feet. "Come on, upsy-daisy —" 

"Oh," Jarvis said in a tone of mild surprise. He swayed, and Steve darted in to take hold of his other arm. He tilted his head back, peering owlishly up into Steve's face. "Oh dear. The room seems to be spinning slightly." 

"And this," Tony said patiently, "is why we don't let Jarvie into the wine cellar more than twice a year." He shifted his hold, wrapping his left arm around Jarvis's waist through his dress suit jacket and taking gentle but firm hold of Jarvis's right forearm with his right hand. "You got him, Steve?" 

Steve, who now had a secure grasp on Jarvis that mirrored Tony's, nodded. "Ready." 

"One step at a time," Tony counselled as they headed slowly toward the bedroom. "That's right, baby, you're doing great…" 

Jarvis snorted laughter again, leaning unsteadily with each step — first against Tony, then against Steve, his gaze shifting back and forth between them. "Oh dear," he mumbled again, "this simply won't do." 

"We've got you," Steve assured him, a fierce protectiveness rising in his heart. He gave Jarvis's waist a comforting squeeze and pressed a kiss to his left temple. "You want me to carry you?" 

Jarvis took three more steps to consider that. "No," he said at last, "thank you. I am intoxicated, but not to that extent." 

Steve nodded again. "Okay." 

"You're so good to me," Jarvis murmured, and his left arm — the arm that, although no longer bandaged, still bore healing wounds from his ordeal eleven days ago — fumbled around Steve's waist and tightened. He tipped his head back to gaze up at Steve again, and for an instant Steve thought his wide blue eyes were going to tear up. Certainly his voice ached with almost pained emotion: "Both of you. How unutterably fortunate I am, to belong to two such solicitous and caring Masters…" 

"Not half as lucky as we are, baby," Tony grinned as they passed into the shadows of the bedroom, heading for the wide and luxurious bed. "'Course we're going to take good care of you — especially tonight. And believe me, it's not over yet…" 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains one tiny line of what might be daddy kink or might be read just as teasing. Sorry, tel! I hope you can read this chapter regardless; if not, let me know and I'll send you a redacted version.

Which was news to Steve, but — well, Tony and his little schemes. Life would be a heck of a lot more boring without them. 

"Hm?" Jarvis looked pleased, but didn't say anything further: his eyes were almost fully closed now, and when Tony brought them all to a halt beside the bed he made no protest as Tony turned them into a face-to-face configuration, still standing. 

"Hold him steady," Tony told Steve quietly, and Steve cooperated, moving in close behind Jarvis to get a gentle but stabilizing grip on his hips while Tony deftly unbuttoned their sub's dress jacket, slipped it off his relaxed frame and cast it carelessly aside, then started in on his vest. 

"Mm," Jarvis hummed, leaning back against Steve's broad chest and smiling beatifically. "That's lovely, Sir…" He laid his hands over Steve's, petting them to urge him closer. "Very nice indeed…" 

"Thought you might approve," Tony smirked, and he certainly didn't miss the way Steve's eyes widened slightly in manifest surprise as Jarvis tilted his pelvis backward a crucial couple of inches, rubbing his buttocks against Steve's crotch. "See, this is why you should always listen to your Daddy — because Daddy knows best, am I right?" 

"Uh," Steve remarked, as Jarvis purred and pushed back a little harder. This was new: normally Jarvis was beautifully passionate but relentlessly refined about expressing it, even when employing obscenities to make his point. Not that Steve was exactly complaining about this newfound brazenness: his dick certainly recognized the signals of desire and was responding loud and clear.  

Tony chuckled as he coaxed the vest free over Jarvis's hands, tugged it out from between their bodies and tossed it in the general direction of a chair. "I rest my case," he said smugly, then took a step forward and took hold of Jarvis's stylish tie just below the knot to tug him forward into a slow, deep kiss. Jarvis practically _growled_ , pushing against Steve in a way that made startled blood rush to Steve's cheeks and cock simultaneously; he was still debating whether or not to get a firmer grip on Jarvis's hips and start some grinding of his own when Tony broke the kiss, allowing Jarvis to turn round a little unsteadily and plaster himself — really, there was no other word for it — up against Steve's taller form, wrapping both arms around Steve's waist like vines encircling a mighty oak and tilting his face upward in an unspoken plea to be kissed. 

"He gets cuddly as hell when he's got a few ounces in him," Tony explained while Steve was still staring. He stepped in and slid his left arm around both of them at hip level to pull them even closer together, running his right hand down the small of Jarvis's back to cup his ass, and his smile turned searingly wicked when Jarvis inhaled eagerly at the contact. "Not to mention horny, even if he's too mellow to do much about it."   

 _Horny is right_ , Steve's dick piped up as the hot half-hard length inside Jarvis's own pants pressed urgently against it, but what actually came out of his mouth was almost plaintive: "I thought we were putting him to bed." 

"We are," Tony said gleefully, "but I think he needs a Rub-Me-Off nightcap before he sails away to Dreamland. We'll have to do most of the work, though. You up for the challenge, hero of mine?" 

Faced with the combination of Tony's taunting tone, Jarvis's imploring gaze and the throb of blood in his own prick, Steve could see only one possible answer: "You bet!" 

"That's my boys," Tony praised, and a second and a half later Steve found himself flat on his back on the bed with Jarvis's full weight on top of him, Jarvis's lips hot and hungry on his, and Tony's grin shining down on both of them as a champagne-flavoured tongue slipped wetly into Steve's mouth. 

Oh yeah, he could do this. He felt Tony's hand slide between Jarvis's open thighs, palming his erection in a way that gave Steve's a good hard rub with the back of that hand, and the way Jarvis dropped his head and whimpered and clung to Steve's waist, pushing against Tony's palm and the ridge of Steve's erection beneath it, lit up Steve's nervous system like a Christmas tree. "You like that?" he asked softly, using the low deep voice he generally reserved for occasions when he had Jarvis tied up and about six inches of cock up his willing ass, and Jarvis moaned quietly against his jawline: 

"Yes… yes, please, more…" 

Steve's hands had just closed around his buttocks to pull him even closer when a qualm of conscience struck. "Are you sure this is okay?" he scowled, looking past Jarvis's head into Tony's smiling eyes. "I mean, he's not exactly sober…" 

Tony chuckled and gave him the Look that clearly said, _You're so cute when you're being upright and conscientious!_ "He knows what he's like when he's under the influence, and he gets a kick out of being used by us in every way we can think of." His cunning fingers squeezed Jarvis's prick, which was still swelling toward full hardness, and Jarvis made another sweet whining sound as he pressed none-too-precise kisses to Steve's neck above the collar of his dress shirt. "Besides, we're not going to fuck him — we're just going to play with him a little bit. A little kissing, a little cuddling, a slow sweet handjob — all for his benefit. You and I won't even get undressed, unless you want to." 

"No," Steve said slowly as he processed that — and found that he liked the prospect quite a bit, being fully dressed with his hand down Jarvis's perfectly tailored dress pants, drinking up the hungry sexual sounds he'd make with thirsty kisses. "As long as he's okay with it… Jarvis?" 

" _Please,_ Captain," Jarvis whispered, clinging and writhing shamelessly as Tony turned his hand between them to give Steve's cock a loving stroke, and for a split second Steve closed his eyes and wondered if it was possible to die simply from the sweetness of life itself. 


	5. Chapter 5

The piercing intensity of that feeling quickly passed, of course — such unadulterated bliss never lasted very long on this fallen Earth — but the fundamental deliciousness of it lingered like warm honey, flowing through Steve's veins and infusing the shadows of their bedroom with a hidden radiance that was almost divine. Love, as St. Paul had declared, was the greatest of all things, and in the past eight months Steve had become convinced that when you got right down to it, it was the only thing that mattered. All truly good things sprang from love: devotion, compassion, bravery, sacrifice, and this shared delight that was as holy as anything he'd ever experienced. It shone in Tony's eyes when they'd laid Jarvis out between them, drowsy and pliant and smiling with rare unabashed pleasure; and when they'd opened his trousers and tugged them down enough to slip their hands inside his briefs and had sorted out who was playing with his balls (Steve) and who was slowly pumping his erection (Tony), it made the expression on Jarvis's face nearly angelic in its transcendence. 

Tony laid a string of little kisses from Jarvis's chin to his right ear, did something with his tongue that elicited a gasp and an eager wriggle, then raised those bright eyes to Steve's face and smiled with naked delight. "The great thing is, the alcohol in his system 'provokes the desire and takes away the performance', as the Bard once said: he'll last a good long time before he comes, and he'll enjoy the hell out of it." 

Jarvis, bracketed tightly between his Masters with an arm around each set of shoulders and his eyes blissfully closed, hummed softly and pushed up into the clasp of Tony's stroking hand. "Apologies, Sir," he murmured, then continued as if he could see the perplexed annoyance on Tony's face: "For all the extra work you'll have to —" 

Steve squeezed his balls hard enough to provoke a sharp intake of breath, and when Jarvis's eyes flickered open he met that questioning gaze with a stern rebuke: "Never apologize for what we have to do to make you come. It's our choice — and our pleasure. Understood?" 

"I —" Jarvis began, then shivered and opened his thighs wider when Steve delivered another briefer squeeze. "Yes, Captain. I understand." 

"Do that again," Tony purred against Jarvis's throat, and Steve complied, rolling each testicle between his fingers, then milking them firmly between thumb and forefinger. "That's it," Tony approved, "just enough to sting… you like that, don't you honey?" Jarvis whimpered an inarticulate affirmative, his head falling back and his eyes drifting closed again as Tony's hand lingered over his cock, squeezing at the top of each stroke. "Good boy. Gonna make it so sweet for you — gonna make you come so hard…" 

"I'm —" and he gasped at a particularly forceful tug from Steve's hand, "I'm afraid I won't be capable of effectively reciprocating your attentions afterwards…" 

Tony chuckled and licked around the curve of his ear with a wicked tonguetip, justifiably proud of Jarvis's ability to form complete sentences of multi-syllable words in his current condition. "We can take care of each other if we have to — all you have to do is come your brains out and go right to sleep afterwards. And yes, J, that's an order!" 

Steve fixed him with a heated gaze. "Is that a promise to suck my cock, Stark?" 

Tony grinned with irrepressible sauciness. "If you're lucky and you're good, Rogers — yeah, it's a promise. But first we've gotta take extra good care of our little sub here…" 

"I'll hold you to that," Steve said with quiet menace, and they bent their mouths to Jarvis's lips and throat and their hands to the task of inflicting slow thorough pleasure with the added spice of a little judiciously applied pain. And lo and behold, Tony was right: normally such concentrated stimulation would have had Jarvis spurting within a couple of minutes without a cock ring to keep him in check, but almost four minutes later he was still panting and rocking his hips restlessly, chasing orgasm in Tony's hand without quite reaching it. 

"Good boy," Tony sing-songed against his eagerly parted lips, "that's it, almost there," and the intensity of the emotion he poured into the kiss that followed — joy, desire, fierce gratitude that the handsome blond was still here to be fawned over — made Steve, who was nibbling at Jarvis's left earlobe, blush from simple proximity. "Love you, baby — love you so much…" 

" _We_ love you," Steve whispered directly into Jarvis's ear, squeezing his balls just hard enough to make the slim man moan with another fine edge of pain, as if to punctuate the first time he'd ever spoken those words aloud. Ignoring Tony's glance of pleased surprise to concentrate on Jarvis's suddenly opened eyes and questioning expression, he met that startled gaze and smiled with the full beautiful force of the expressed emotion.  

"Love you," he repeated softly, and filled the tender kiss that followed with his own ferocity, his own desire, his own ineffable joy in the admission. "And can't imagine a life without you in it, either."

"Captain," Jarvis breathed, sounding a little stunned, then whimpered when Tony pinched the tip of his cock sharply in admonition. "Apologies — Steve…" 

Steve felt his smile turn a little sorrowful. "It's okay, you don't have to say you —" 

"The sentiment is fully reciprocated," Jarvis murmured, then smiled almost shyly, beautifully, as he stroked the fingertips of his left hand into the short hair at the base of Steve's skull and toyed with the silky strands.  

"That's Jarvis-speak for _I love you too,_ " Tony supplied with a cheeky grin. "Wow, do I suddenly need to get all jealous on your asses? Because I totally will." 

Jarvis's attention shifted to Tony at once, his pale eyebrows brows contracting in dismay. "Sir, I would never —" 

Tony kissed the protest away, an indulgent smile lingering on his own lips. "I know, J," he reassured, and pressed another quick kiss to Jarvis's lower lip like a benediction. "There'll never be anyone as awesome as me, and so on and so forth — as it should be, but I've never said that you couldn't spread the good stuff around a little, have I?" 

The frown eased somewhat. "No, but —" 

"No buts," Tony said firmly. He included Steve in the conversation with a glance and an amused quirk of one corner of his mouth. "Steve has my stamp of approval: heck, I'm pretty darned fond of him myself." He concentrated a couple of short strokes on the head of Jarvis's prick, twisting on the upstroke to make him sigh and thrust upward a little harder. "Now, how about the two of you discuss the issue while I take care of this? Shouldn't take long, and then we'll tuck you in and you can sleep the sleep of the well-sucked and the thoroughly champagned. Sound good?" 

Jarvis surrendered with another sigh, his eyes drifting closed and his cheek coming to rest against Steve's shoulder as he relaxed completely. "It is my honour to obey," he breathed, and Tony, now grinning devilishly, slid down between his legs and let his bobbing head do the work that his right hand was probably too sore to have continued much longer. 

It turned out there weren't any words involved at all — not ones that were spoken, anyway. Their eyes, however, conveyed volumes, their smiles whole libraries, and the caress of Steve's left hand on Jarvis's throat and cheek (leaving Tony's right hand to pick up the slack on ball detail, not that Tony seemed to mind) was strength and tenderness personified. Jarvis leaned into the warmth of every kiss, tasting Steve as thoroughly as he was being tasted, and his moans when Steve's hand dropped to Tony's head, petting and pressing the billionaire deeper onto his cock, were pure music to Steve's ears, until he stiffened and whined against Steve's neck while Tony purred lecherously, followed by the welcome sound of Tony swallowing greedily as Jarvis jizzed down his willing throat. 


	6. Chapter 6

"Ohhh," Jarvis sighed as his head fell back, the exhalation soft and shaky against Steve's lips as his entire body went limp in the wake of the final spasm, "oh _yes_ …" 

Tony purred like a leopard, sliding both hands under Jarvis's pelvis to cup and squeeze his ass, and when Jarvis shivered and flinched a little with a sweet half-smile Steve knew Tony was swirling his tongue over his wilting and sensitized cock in a final lingering caress. He raised his head slowly, releasing Jarvis's dick with a luscious little liquid _pop!_ , and flashed a smug grin up the length of the panting man's torso. "Mmmm, tasty… think I should have kept him going a bit longer, Steve?" 

Steve smiled, studying Jarvis's face as he cupped it in his hand again. "Naw, he's already asleep." 

"Am not," Jarvis mumbled, fumbling his right hand up from Tony's shoulder to press it open against Steve's chest. His eyelids remained resolutely closed. "Just… having a little rest…" 

Tony pressed a fond kiss to the hollow of his hip, chuckling under his breath. "That's right, J," he crooned, "you just keep telling yourself that all the way between the sheets." 

"Smart-ass," Jarvis muttered, to Steve's considerable shock and a sneaky little flash of delight — but he was still smiling as he snuggled his cheek down against the shoulder of Steve's dress jacket, and his sigh when Steve ran gentle fingers through his hair was full of contentment. 

"Guilty as charged," Tony said cheerfully, shooting Steve a glance that bore more than a trace of calculation and evaluation. Steve found that unspoken question a tad disturbing: usually he was the stern punishing Dom in this relationship, at least in the bedroom, but surely Tony knew by now that he was also capable of tenderness? Hadn't he more than proven that after Jarvis had gotten shot, when he'd devoted himself to their sub's care and established himself as the resolutely strong arm that always encircled them both as protection and support? 

Then the expression was gone as quickly as it had come, and Tony's face revealed only a well-developed sense of mischief as he let go of Jarvis's buttocks to turn his attention to the fly of Steve's pants. "But I've got other things to do than sit here and be insulted by uppity technology — Well hello there, you great big gorgeous hunk of all-American meat, you!" 

For a second Steve considered telling Tony that that wasn't necessary — but he _was_ pretty jazzed up on a heady combination of love and lust, and besides, Tony already four inches of his eight-and-a-half-incher in his mouth and was going to town, so it was a bit late to lodge a formal protest. His tongue was so wicked, agile and hot and slick with Jarvis's cum, and the sounds he made as he sucked and swallowed were the distillation of self-satisfied unblushing Sin. 

So Steve drew a deep breath and rested his cheek on Jarvis's forehead and closed his eyes, letting oceanic pleasure flow through him from Tony's unhurried avid mouth as Tony sucked him off less than five inches away from Jarvis's now-limp dick. Jarvis's right hand dropped to tangle its fingers loosely in Tony's hair, trying to pitch in at least a little, but he was clearly staying barely awake only by sheer force of will.  

"It's all right," Steve murmured into his hair, and pressed a kiss there as he traced the slimmer blond's full lower lip with the tip of his thumb, "it's okay, darling, you can sleep now. We've got you." 

Jarvis mumbled something brief — it sounded a little like _Thank you, Master_ — and his breathing grew slow and deep even as Steve's grew more rapid and more shallow. He dropped his own left hand to Tony's head, entwining his fingers with Jarvis's to get a grip on it, but he wasn't really exerting any control: Tony was good at this, and he could be trusted to do it right.  

And oh, if their love was a thing of Heaven, then surely Tony's lascivious skills were those of a seductive demon, the kind who crept up on good men in the dead of night to coax the spunk from their balls with tricks that would make an angel blush. There was still a part of Steve — a very small part, the last defiant remnant of his earlier life in a time of intolerance — that hissed that he was himself a filthy sinner for giving himself over to those degenerate homosexual manipulations… but then he heard the happy little noises Tony was making and felt Jarvis's drowsy fingers so trustingly interlaced with his, and knew that the so-called forces of good could lie just as readily as the so-called forces of evil, because what was done here tonight was done out of love as much as from the need to scratch a physical itch. 

He tightened his hold on Tony's head and began to thrust ever so slightly, his heart soaring when he felt how Tony yielded for his pleasure and opened willingly, and when his balls tightened in Tony's hand he had to squeeze his eyes closed and bite back a sob of unfettered confession: _I love you,_ as the cum rushed up from the root of him, _I love you,_ as it burst white-hot from his throbbing cockhead into Tony's thirsty mouth, _I love you,_ with every spurt, _oh God! how I love you, both of you, forever and ever, amen!_  

But he held the words fast in his heart, because tonight he was mounting a campaign and they were artillery he was holding in reserve, like the contents of the small white silk box currently pressing against his right hip. All that emerged was a strangled groan and a whole-body shudder, and as he soared on the euphoric wings of his orgasm he was dimly aware that Tony, irrepressible as ever, was smiling around his most intimate flesh. 

 _Forever,_ his soul whispered as his body rejoiced and his heart quivered with apprehension, _please God, if only you'll let me…_  


	7. Chapter 7

Tony knew well enough to pull off as soon as Steve was done coming — Jarvis might enjoy the taste of pain with his pleasure, but Steve was much more straightforward in his preferences — and when Steve's vision cleared he looked down to see Tony gazing back up at him and licking a trace of semen from one corner of his mouth. The amused tenderness in those dark eyes was enough to make him fall in love all over again in an instant: Tony might be tart and even outright unpleasant when you first met him, but Steve was convinced that if you stuck around long enough he became something you craved, like olives and anchovies and wine. 

"Steve, you naughty boy," he crowed quietly so as not to rouse Jarvis, "you've been holding out on us, because that was a much bigger payload than usual!" 

Which made Steve blush to the roots of his hair. How, after all the incredibly dirty sexy things he'd done with this man, could Tony still make him turn as red as a schoolgirl hearing her first off-colour joke? A mystery for the ages, so all he could say was: "I guess I was inspired." 

Tony shook his head, still wearing that cocky curve on his deliciously red lips. "Inspired," he chuckled, and bestowed a final brief kiss on the wet head of Steve's prick before starting to tuck it back into his boxers and pants. "Guess I'll just have to find ways to 'inspire' you more often." 

Steve lay back and closed his eyes for a few seconds, letting go of Tony's head to cradle Jarvis's limp body closer against his right side while Tony worked. As Tony zipped his pants closed again he smiled with a trace of apology: "Give me a couple of seconds and I'll return the favour." 

"It's okay, Steve, I'm good." Which made him glance down his body again, eyebrows rising skeptically, to find Tony gazing back without a trace of teasing. "Seriously. But I _could_ do with another glass of champagne to top the evening off." 

After a moment Steve nodded: Tony, dedicated libertine though he usually was, occasionally liked to forego orgasm and keep the sexual burn going, claiming that letting it gradually fade on its own was sometimes just as satisfying as getting to climax. "Okay," he allowed, and let go of his warm burden reluctantly. Together he and Tony got Jarvis, who was utterly pliant and never once opened his eyes, undressed and between the sheets, where he settled down at once with a trace of a smile so lovely it almost broke Steve's heart. 

After they'd drawn up the blankets around Jarvis's biceps Tony took gentle hold of the sleeping man's left hand and raised it just enough to lean in and press a tender kiss to the smooth pale skin of his inner wrist, above the healing bullet wound that still marred his slim forearm. "Sweet dreams, sweetheart," he said softly, and tucked the hand under Jarvis's cheek before nodding to Steve and leading him silently back into the main living area, where the table and their glasses still waited. 

They sat down again. Tony poured them each another glass. And they enjoyed their drinks without speaking, looking out over the glittering city spread out far below… 

… but it didn't take Steve long to realize that the quality of Tony's silence didn't match his own bone-deep contentment. He stole a few sidelong glances at the billionaire, noting the slight tightness that raised telltale wrinkled beside his expressive eyes and the slightest downturn of his mouth, before electing to make the first move: "Are you okay?" 

"Hm?" Tony said absently, not looking round. 

"You seem a bit preoccupied." 

"Do I?" He shifted his gaze to the contents of his glass, took another mouthful, and swallowed it without haste, seeming to gather his thoughts before shrugging, his eyes still on what was left of his bubbly. "Yeah, I guess I do. Gotta be honest… I never thought I'd hear him say those words to anybody but me." 

It took Steve a second to process that, and when he did his heart sank hard and fast. This might ruin everything. "Is that a problem?" 

Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek for a couple of seconds, giving the question serious consideration. "Not necessarily," he said at last, slowly, and raised his eyes to Steve's face, "but it is a little bit — well, surprising. He was always programmed to devote himself entirely to me." 

"He's not a machine anymore," Steve pointed out quietly. "He hasn't been for a long time — has he?" 

"Four years, eight months and twenty-two days," Tony said, smiling in a way that wasn't exactly pleasant anymore. "He'll be turning thirteen years old on November 14th, did you know that? My boy's a Scorpio, sting in the tail and all." 

The fine hairs on the back of Steve's neck prickled erect in silent warning. He dropped his voice to an even lower register, his _Don't fuck with me_  range: "Is that supposed to put me off?" 

Tony shrugged. "Just thought I'd remind you what you're getting yourself into, in case you'd forgotten. He's wearing a meat suit at the moment, but he's not human — not even close." 

"You think I don't know —?" Steve caught himself and drew a tiny steadying breath. Getting into an outright argument wasn't going to further his cause. "Let's just say I've never forgotten." 

Tony snorted and looked into his glass again, as if studying the bubbles before taking another sip. "Bet he smells different to your oh-so-enhanced senses, huh?" 

Steve nodded at once. "Unlike anybody I've ever met before," he said with perfect honesty. "But it's better than the finest perfume. If you could bottle it you'd make a fortune." 

"Already have, Stevie-boy." The edge of his voice was still serrated. "And speaking of — tell me, don't you ever get to missing the girls?" 

Which made him blink. "I don't —" 

"I know you like skirts," Tony continued ruthlessly, "I've seen your porn searches, so why aren't you out there getting yourself some serious pussy? Now that you've gotten past the training wheels stage with us, I'm pretty sure you could have your pick of any woman you wanted — as long as you targeted the right crowd. I'd be happy to take you to the Hellfire Club and introduce you ar—" 

"You know perfectly well why." This time he let the power his command inflection leak out, and for once, miraculously, it shut Tony up. "I'm with you — both of you, and I don't fool around on people I care about." 

"Funny," Tony remarked with a sulky sidelong glance, "I could have sworn I heard you use the L-word." 

Steve's internal temperature began to rise, and for once not in a sexy way even though Tony being deliberately contrary was usually one of the most arousing things he could imagine. He'd been crunching the numbers behind Tony's attack and he was pretty sure he could see the shape of the map now. "You think I'm going to get tired of him and leave him in a lurch. And you think I'm going to leave you too, is that it?" 

"Don't flatter yourself," Tony snapped back — but there it was, a flicker of genuine pain in his eyes as they glanced away again that Steve, after having intently studied this man for the better part of eight months, couldn't fail to detect. His heart softened at once, driven to offer comfort — but every military instinct he possessed told him that if he tried that tactic, Tony would just round on him like a wolf and rip his throat out. 

"Bullshit," he said bluntly, and was rewarded when Tony's gaze snapped back to him, its mocking light adulterated by a brief flare of genuine surprise. 


	8. Chapter 8

Gazing hard into Tony's eyes, Steve reiterated: "That's complete and utter crap. You know damned well how I feel about you, _and_ what my standards of conduct are. If I was just using the two of you to scratch an itch, I wouldn't have moved in with you — and I sure as hell wouldn't have told Jarvis that I loved him." 

Tony's gaze was just as unwavering. "Yeah… about that. Why now? Don't tell me seeing him get shot gave the big bad soldier boy the cold collywobbles?" 

"You weren't there," Steve said in a voice of quiet steel, and yes, it was cruel, but it was also true. "You saw things after he was all cleaned up. I saw — everything. He was less than a second away from getting his brains blown out, and what I did to save him… I'm not proud of that. But I did it because I couldn't imagine either of us going on without him." 

A mocking smile settled on Tony's face, looking profoundly comfortable there. He turned his attention back to his drink, swirling it in its glass before taking a sip and then drawling: "Well gee, Cap, I'll make sure you get your Purple Heart just as soon as —" 

But the last thing Steve wanted him to be right now was comfortable. "And I would have done the same for you. He was going to die for you, remember? He said he couldn't imagine a finer death, than for your sake. Don't you think that deserves a —?" 

"Don't." Tony's eyes flashed back to Steve's face, almost savage. "I don't know where this conversation is going, but don't you _dare_ tell me what he deserves." 

"You love him," Steve persisted, because Tony couldn't deny that. Not convincingly. "But sometimes I have to wonder if you feel the same way about me, or anything even close." 

The way Tony looked away, as evasive as a running hare, was all the answer Steve needed, making his heart sink and soar although Tony's mutter was petulant: "You talk about it like it matters." 

"It matters to me. And I think that deep down, maybe it matters to you too."  

Tony scowled, downed the last of his drink, and glared at the glass like being empty was its own fault.  

Steve didn't bother to cloak the sigh that rose from the depths of him, affectionate and exasperated and just a little bit tired of Tony's games. This wasn't quite how he'd imagined this going, but he knew well how to improvise on the fly. "Okay, you need me to say it? I love you too. I love both of you, and —" 

"Quit while you're ahead, Old Man." He sounded weary, his abruptly dull gaze fixed on the empty glass cradled in his hand.  

But Steve just shook his head. "I'm no quitter — that's another lesson you should have learned long ago." 

"There are some games you can't win." This time the trace of a smile on his full lips was bitter. "Trust me, I've played enough hands to know when to fold." 

"I think a lot of people have hurt you," Steve persisted. "And now you're afraid that I'll hurt Jarvis, too." Time to go for the jugular, although his tone of voice remained calmly reasonable. "I'm here to tell you that I'm in this for the long haul — and that I want something for the three of us, together."  He reached into his right pants packet to pull out the long white silk box that had been waiting there all evening. "Even if we just keep it between ourselves — if nobody else ever knows, _we'll_ know."  

Tony eyed the box warily as Steve laid it on the table between them, but his breath caught audibly in his throat when Steve opened it, revealing the six circlets, arranged in matched pairs, set into the black velvet within.  

"What the hell are those?" he demanded after a few heart-stopping seconds.  

Steve withdrew his hand, granting Tony that much space to consider and regroup. "Rings. The red gold ones are yours, the white gold ones are mine, and the yellow gold ones are —" 

"You don't have to explain the fucking symbolism," he growled, his eyes full of something intense — and far from positive. "It's perfectly, excruciatingly, tritely clear." He closed his eyes tightly, running his free hand almost distractedly down his face, his voice falling to a pained mutter: "Jesus, Steve…" 

He kept his tone even. "I want to wear yours, and his. Are you honestly telling me that you don't want to wear his? Or mine?" 

"They're just metal," Tony insisted, like a man punching wildly at an opponent to get enough room to breathe. 

Steve deflected smoothly: "Like you just said — they're symbols." And moved in for the kill. He held Tony's gaze, speaking with calm authority — he hoped. "Tony… I love you. And I love him. And — I like to think you love me too. And I can't stop thinking about the fact that he almost died without a single mark on him that he meant something special to both of us. That he almost —" 

Resentment became a flare of sharp warning. "Don't." 

" — that he almost went to the morgue as naked as some guy who just works for you." 

Which became pain so bright it seared Steve, even across almost three feet of physical separation. "Damn you…" Tony breathed, his eyes squeezing tighter closed, and he sounded like he'd just been punched in the gut.  

"You know I'd never do anything to hurt you." Each word was a precisely focussed blow: he had to break through that armour of cynicism, and fast, while Tony was wavering. "You know that I'd die before I'd let any harm come to either of you. All I want is —" 

"Nobody ever intends to hurt anybody, Steve." Tony sounded like he was speaking through a throat full of broken glass, and his head was bowed as if in defeat. "But in the end we rip each other's throats out with the best intentions in the world. Me, okay, I can take the hits — but _him?_ " His gaze flashed up to Steve's face again and his teeth came bare in a thin snarl. "I'd kill anybody who so much as bruised his little silicon heart. You've got to know _that_ , right? And now you're telling me I have to let you get close enough to kill him if you miscalculate?" 

In that face of that ferocious protectiveness Steve saw a shield he didn't know how to breach. The pain in his own heart was keen and sudden, like a blade, messing up his internal radar: he'd thought that Tony, who noticed so much, would know in his gut the truths that were, to Steve, so self-evident. The truths of love and dedication and determination, but what if Tony was too damaged by his own life of neglect to see any of that? 

What if they really were too fundamentally different to bridge that yawning gulf between them? 

"I'm sorry," he said softly, and he wasn't even sure if he was faking a retreat to elicit a conciliatory response or sincerely folding his hand when he reached out, every inch feeling like a mile crossed, and quietly closed the white box's silk lid.  "It was — never mind. I'm sorry. I'll just —" 

Tony's hand closed on his wrist before he could pick up the box. Closed hard, fingertips digging into enhanced flesh. Steve looked up, surprised, into dark eyes terribly bright. 


	9. Chapter 9

"Yes," Tony grated, his voice harsh as a joint long rusted forced into motion. 

Steve blinked at him, uncertain, not quite daring to hope. "Yes… what?" 

"I want that. You don't think I want that? But —" He blinked in his turn and glanced away, but Steve could tell that this time it was prompted by tears held at bay only by a supreme effort of will. "You want me, Stevie-boy? Think about that real carefully. I'm — not the best at this kind of thing." He swallowed, trying to make it look casual. "You know. The interpersonal stuff." 

Which Steve couldn't help but smile at, cautious but bright. "You're acting like I haven't seen you in bed with Jarvis a hundred times — or anywhere else. You treat him like he's the most priceless thing in the world, so telling me you don't know how to love someone else? Not gonna fly." 

"But you, and me…" His grip on Steve's wrist tightened to a degree that would have hurt merely mortal flesh and blood, although his gaze remained fixed on the city spread out below. His expression was bleak. "We haven't exactly — you know. Gotten along all the time." 

Steve raised his other hand to lay it over those chilled fingers, and he could feel his smile turning fond. "That doesn't mean we don't love each other," he said patiently. "If we didn't, we wouldn't have kept fighting this long, right? We would have driven each other off long ago. And don't try to tell me it's just about the sex, either. I might be a kid from nineteen forties Brooklyn, but I'm not completely out of the loop about these things." 

Tony snorted, both eyebrows shooting upward in amused disbelief. "Cap, you couldn't find a clue in clue mating season, if you drenched yourself in clue pheromones and ran around naked in a field shouting _Clue, clue!_ " 

"I seemed to do pretty well when it came to catching you," Steve countered. 

"Yeah, well…" A tiny sniffle and a twitch of his neatly trimmed moustache. His death grip eased up, just the tiniest bit, and he finally looked Steve in the eyes again. Unblinking. Challenging. Steve responded with a calm that masked cold thrills of nervousness and excitement, until at last Tony said, "I've gotta hand it to you," and he nodded at the box, "that takes balls the size of church bells." 

"Some things are worth any risk." He waited a beat, then let go of the box and let his hand rest on the table, an empty fist loosely curled in on itself. "How about you, Tin Man? Think you've got what it takes?" 

Tony's hand remained closed around Steve's wrist. "He might say no." 

"He won't. He already belongs to us — I think he'll be proud to wear the marks of that." 

The fine lines around Tony's eyes faded, and in that tiny signal Steve could see his internal trajectory altering — and knew that whatever test Tony's wary heart had set for him, he'd managed, miraculously, to pass it. "It's entirely up to him. If he doesn't go for it, the whole thing's off. Got it?" 

Steve nodded, his heart subtly pounding in his breast.  

"I'd still marry you, you know," he said quietly. "In a church, in front of the whole world, in a heartbeat." 

"Oh, Stevie-boy…" Tony let go and sat back, shaking his head with exaggerated sorrow. "You're either the bravest or the stupidest son of a bitch I've ever met. Probably both." He studied Steve's face with something like apology in the wideness of his eyes. "If it's not Jarvis, for me, it's not anybody. I'm, uh — y'know. Sorry." 

Steve nodded again. "I know that. But it's only fair that you know where I stand too." 

"And you're okay with that?" 

It was Steve's turn to shrug. "I can live with what it is. And I'm happy with what I've already got — it's more than I'd ever hoped for." 

Tony's eyes narrowed with fresh suspicion. "Are you wanting to put a ring on Jarvis's finger just so you can put a ring on mine?" 

This time he shook his head. "I meant what I said. Jarvis is an amazing person in his own right. I wouldn't use him that way — and I think deep down, you know that." 

"I didn't expect Mister American-As-Mom's-Apple-Pie to propose a three-way marriage either," Tony grumbled. "Who knows what else you've got in there that could surprise me?" 

"I love you both." Seemed like he was really making up for lost time: almost nine months of silence on the subject, and now he'd used what Tony scornfully called "the L-word" seven times in one evening. It felt good. He could get used to this. Tony, on the other hand… Steve found himself almost stammering, and blushing to boot. "And I know — I mean, I hope you —" 

"It's okay, Steve." This time the smile Tony offered was almost kind, and maybe a little sheepish. "I wouldn't even consider this if I didn't… you know. At least a little bit." 

Which was a bigger concession that Steve had hoped to hear. Still, his smile was a little sad although he tried to keep it out of his voice. "You say it to him so easily." 

"He was a part of me from the beginning," Tony shrugged, "and we all know how much I love myself, right? Buck up, Captain — if you're lucky and you're good, maybe one day I'll smother you with kisses and declare my undying devotion to you on bended knee." 

Steve's heart, which had spent a good part of the last two minutes sunk to the depths of a dark and turbulent ocean, soared to sunlit heights and looped-the-loop in wide circles of delight, because Tony's evasions could say more than Tony's declarations. "You're willing to do this," he said through the choke of sheer happiness in his chest. "That's good enough for me." 

Fond warmth shone briefly in Tony's eyes, only slightly tinged with wry amusement. "Brave, stupid — and wise beyond his years. No wonder I can't keep my hands off you." 

"So." He wanted to jump up and turn somersaults across the room and back, but confined his reaction to what had to be a slightly silly grin. "When do we tell him?" 

Tony set down his empty glass. He reached out, laid his left hand on the white silk box, and picked it up in both hands to inspect it from all sides.. "I'll talk to him tomorrow morning, while you're out at that — what is it, a ship launch?" 

Steve nodded. "The _USS Celestial_."

A derisive snort as he read the _Tiffany's_ sticker on the bottom. "Knew it was some pansy-ass name like that." 

"Sure you don't want me here for that conversation?" 

Tony opened and closed the box, testing the action of the hinges. "Nope. If he's hung up on you in a way that reflects his original protocols, he might get caught in a negative process loop trying to say what he thinks you want to hear in response to the questions I'll be asking him." 

It was Steve's turn to look skeptical. "Jarvis never says anything just because he thinks it's what somebody wants to hear — and that includes you." 

"These aren't normal circumstances. He loves you, remember? That's all kinds of bad juju from a programming perspective — who knows how far off baseline he's operating?" Tony's nose wrinkled in a tiny grimace that made Steve want to lean over and kiss it. "I'll have to reassess his behavioural vectors from the ground up, and that's going to take a shitload of questions that you'd just find boring as hell if you had to sit through them. I'll take care of it — you just make sure that New Age boat doesn't sink, okay?" 

"Okay," Steve agreed, because really, he'd won this round, and when it came to Jarvis it was always best to let Tony do whatever he thought was necessary. And when Tony waved him off to bed only seconds later, calling up two holographic windows and already muttering to JAMES about updated behavioural vector analysis procedures, Steve gave him a quick kiss on the temple goodnight and went silently, in part because he still couldn't believe his good luck, and in part because his joy was too great to be expressed in such small things as words. 

Lying next to Jarvis (who was sprawled on his stomach and blissfully snoring) in the darkness of their bedroom, Steve laced his fingers behind his head and gazed up into the shadows, savouring his present triumph and resolutely turning his mind from the possibility of catastrophic failure in the morning. Whatever happened next was between Tony and Jarvis — but he considered it a hopeful sign that Tony had retained possession of the white box and its priceless contents. 

 _I don't know if You're still listening to my prayers, God,_ he thought as he finally turned over to face Jarvis and closed his eyes, _but if You are, please, open Tony's heart and grant him the wisdom to understand that I meant every word I said. Help him to trust me, and to know that all I want is what's best for both of them, now and forever. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen…_  


	10. Chapter 10

As usual, Steve was up at 5:30 a.m. the following morning: nutrient shake, jog and workout, coffee and breakfast, shower and shave, and then into his military uniform for the aircraft carrier christening in Newport News. Tony and Jarvis were both still asleep when he left, and when he came into the bedroom one final time to murmur his goodbyes they both raised a sleepy head to be kissed before promptly snuggling down against each other again. Steve left them with regret and an apprehensive/anticipatory little quiver in the region of his heart — after all, by the time he came back everything would be resolved between them one way or the other, and he couldn't even be present to have a voice in the proceedings. 

The launch went off without a hitch. Steve stood tall and impressive, offered an uplifting speech and a sincere prayer, and broke a bottle of sparkling wine against the new ship's side to the enthusiastic cheers of an appreciative crowd… but his mind was actually two hundred and eighty-four miles away, where one of the men he loved was having a serious heart-to-heart with the other and the rest of his life was riding on the outcome. He smiled and chatted pleasantly through the post-christening reception, shook the hands of more than a few officers of various pay grades and posed for the required pictures, and wondered exactly how Tony was testing Jarvis and more importantly, what Tony would do if he detected what he though was an anomaly.  

 _It's not like he can get inside Jarvis anymore and fix things by hand._ Steve was too practiced at his craft to let his All-American Hero persona falter, but behind the aura of competency and control he felt the occasional shiver of helpless anxiety. _Maybe Jarvis wasn't meant to love anybody but him — maybe I've messed him up real good. But if I have… well, Jarvis seems pretty damned happy for someone who's malfunctioning. Or maybe having me around has made him stronger, but not in ways that Tony will appreciate. If that's the case, they could be having a knock-down drag-out fight right this minute and there's not a damned thing I can do about it._  

The StarkPhone in his pocket remained resolutely inert: no phone calls, no text messages, and as much as his fingers itched to find a quiet corner and type a quick query — _How's it going?_ — he resisted the impulse with equal resolve. But he counted down the minutes until it was time for him to depart, and managed to extract himself from the field with no more than a twenty-two minute delay from being buttonholed by a General who apparently felt that he'd been unjustly deprived of Steve's company up to that point. During the flight back to New York City he took advantage of his Army handler going for a bathroom break to pull out his phone and examine its screen, but neither Tony nor Jarvis had seen fit to provide him with any clues. 

He was just slipping it back into its pocket when it buzzed in his hand: he'd set it to Silent Mode for the launch, and therefore couldn't tell whether it was Tony or Jarvis on the other end. When he pulled it back out at slightly less than the speed of light he saw that he'd received a text from Tony, five short words: _C'mon home Cap, everything's ready._  

And his anxious heart settled and soared, because that sure as heck didn't sound like _Congratulations Cap, you broke Jarvis to Hell and gone_ , or _Don't bother coming back Cap, things have fallen to pieces and there's nothing left to salvage_. 

He typed a quick response: _On my way_. And when the Army handler came back to her seat about thirty seconds later she was well-trained enough that she didn't even raise an eyebrow at the slight but radiant smile Steve knew he was now wearing as he gazed at the sunny clouds beyond the window, a smile at variance with the professional demeanour he'd stuck to all morning. 

 _Home._ He was currently far away, his body stuck in this aircraft thousands of feet above the ground, but thanks to the miracles of modern technology his mind could bridge that gap in mere seconds… and the timeless truth remained, that in his heart he had never really left.

 _Everything's ready._ His lovers had called him back to them and he was now confident that when he reached them again, he would find perfect peace at last.

[TO BE CONTINUED]


End file.
